


Shop Talk

by AbbieHollowDays (USS_Ichabbie), USS_Ichabbie



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2014-10-22
Packaged: 2018-02-22 03:31:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2492870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/USS_Ichabbie/pseuds/AbbieHollowDays, https://archiveofourown.org/users/USS_Ichabbie/pseuds/USS_Ichabbie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abbie and Crane spend an evening at her friend Sebastian's salon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shop Talk

Abbie sat in the waiting area of her salon and glanced over her magazine at Ichabod who was sitting in the barber’s chair being attended to by the ever-fabulous proprietor of Chez Sebastian.  She’d known Sebastian since high school and having never gotten accustomed to using his given name, still called him “Hickey” when others weren’t around, as was the case this evening.

Ichabod, on the other hand had immediately won Sebastian’s heart by calling him Sébastien with a heavy French pronunciation. “Oooh,” he had squealed. “Say that again! You make it sound all sexy and shit!” Ichabod indulged him and earned the nickname “James Bond”.

Abbie lifted the copy of Essence Magazine she was reading and hid a snort and giggle behind its pages before looking over at her partner again. Crane was sitting as still as a statue; desperately trying not to sneeze or twitch his lip at the vibrations of the electric trimmer under his nose and on his upper lip. He’d made that mistake on his first visit and hadn’t stopped complaining about the state of his facial hair until it filled in a week and a half later.

“There you go, baby,” Sebastian said handing Ichabod a mirror. “I left it long in the back like you wanted, but you really gotta let me do my magic on this head of yours sometime. This Fabio thing you got going on makes me want to weep.” He smoothed Crane’s hair back at the sides of his head to approximate a shorter style. “I mean… I could make you look like James Bond, James Bond! You would look a-maze-ing with a little color and maybe some short spikes on top. I’d even give you some product to take with you.”

Ichabod looked up at the magenta streaks in the front of Sebastian’s hair and then over to Abbie with alarm. “Uh-uh. No color, Hickey. No spikes. No product,” she said stepping in to rescue her terrified co-Witness. “Crane is a simple man with simple needs.”

“Indeed,” Ichabod said finally regaining the use of his tongue. He ran his hand over his beard and studied his profile. “However, as usual, you have astounded me with the precision of your barbering. It is a marvel! Benjamin Franklin hims--“  

He felt the glare coming from Abbie’s direction without even looking at her. “No name-dropping the founding fathers, Crane!”  He remembered her saying.

“Erm… that is to say… I would gladly… erm… tip you… with currency emblazoned with the likeness of your…” He choked on the words, “great statesman Benjamin Franklin… for your fine work… if it were up to me.”  He stood and brushed his shirt and glanced at Abbie who gave him the “OK” sign and mouthed “Nice save!”.

“Honey, I already told you I’m not leaving my husband for ya, but if you’re throwing hundreds around, I just might put you on speed dial!” He gently pushed Ichabod in the direction of the waiting area and motioned to Abbie while lowering the chair in front of him. “You’re next!”

As low as the seat was, Abbie still had to hop a bit to get into it. He was about to put a cape on her when he got a closer look at her hair. “What… In… Beyonce’s name… did you do… to your hair?!” He grabbed a lock of hair and used it to angle her face up toward him.

“There was an incident… at the… library….” She realized how ridiculous that sounded and braced for his reaction.

“In the library?!” he exclaimed, then muttered to himself, “She said 'in the library'!”

“What, did someone dunk your head in the toilet?”  Not giving her a chance to respond, he let go of her hair, wiped his hands on the towel slung over his shoulder then threw it on the ground. “Uh-uh…  You know what? I don’t even wanna know! Get up… get up, up, up!“ and directed her toward the washing station.

Ninety minutes of washing, conditioning, hood drying, blow drying, eating, and chatting later and Abbie was back in the chair to have her hair straightened.

Ichabod looked on with curiosity, but increasingly became more agitated.  His fingers twitched and he fidgeted in his chair as Sebastian absentmindedly parted and flat ironed small sections of her hair while talking about the latest episode of Scandal.

After a few minutes he cast aside the copy of last September’s Ebony he was flipping through and sat forward in his chair, looking very much as if he wanted to say something but was restraining himself.

“Everything OK, Crane?” Abbie asked. “I know it takes a while, but it looks like I should be done in another hour or so. Right, Hickey?” Sebastian nodded in response.  “Could be much worse! I used to wait four hours just to get in the chair before Hickey stopped quadruple booking clients.”

“Mmm-hmm” he agreed,  “Now I just charge you heifers four times as much and go home early!” He laughed and spritzed her hair before running the flat iron over it causing it to sizzle.

Ichabod had barely followed the conversation and winced as the smell of hot hair wafted toward him. “No, it is not…” He stopped himself and began again, this time laying on the charm. “Sébastien, I do not wish to impugn the skill with which you transform Miss Mills’ coiffure, however…”

“English, James Bond!” Sebastian interrupted, exasperated. “American English!”

Crane cleared his throat, stood and walked toward Abbie and Sebastian, hands clasped behind his back.  “I just thought that as Miss Mill’s hair is in its natural state, you might perhaps achieve a better result if you… erm… ran a comb through a section of Miss Mills’ hair first, and applied some tension before using the heating implem… the flat... iron. I believe the method is called ‘comb chasing’.”

Abbie and Sebastian looked at each other, then stared at Ichabod in shock; their mouths hanging open. Blissfully unaware of their reaction, Ichabod continued, now a little bolder.

“Also, I noticed that you applied an oil to her scalp and hair, but did not seem to use anything that would add moisture before this. Her style will last much longer if it has some sort of moisturizer, then the oil, which will seal the strands. It will also keep her hair healthier in the long term. I have seen many ladies whose locks would make even Lady Godiva jeal…”  

He stopped and looked down at his companions’ faces. “What is it? What is wrong? I did not wish to offend you, have I done so?”

“Crane?! What in the the hell?!” was all Abbie could manage at the moment.

“Didn’t you know, baby girl?” Sebastian laughed, “James Bond is a stylist to the stars!”

“Right. Perhaps I should explain... As I have regrettably been unable to offer my services to the police, I found myself quite bored one day and, intrigued by the seemingly magical qualities of you and your dear sister’s hair, I took it upon myself to watch tutorials on The YouTube on the intricate, diverse and often temperamental nature of African hair. While clearly I am not as skilled as our esteemed barber...,” he made a slight bow to Sebastian, “The methods for styling coiled hair appear to have changed in the last several decades and I do feel after three days and sixteen hours of intense study, I have identified the….”

“Sixteen hours, Crane?! You watched sixteen hours of black hair videos on Youtube?” Abbie said in shock.

“Yes, Miss Mills!” Ichabod said with self-conscious exasperation. “As I said, I have been plagued with boredom since your new sheriff has banned me from performing my duties as a Wit… Historical consultant. One must occupy themselves somehow, mustn’t one? This subject is as good as any other, is it not?” He stood ramrod straight and clasped his hands behind him again, which seemed to add five more inches to his height.

Abbie raised her hands in resignation, “Alright, Alright! Fair enough!”

Sebastian pursed his lips and gestured at Ichabod with his comb. “Ok, Vidal Sassoon. Show us what you got!”

“Firstly,” He said, grabbing the comb from his hand. “The tines on this comb are far too small for her type of hair. I believe that while your sister is a 3a, you are a 4c, Miss Mills. I took it upon myself to type your hair from the strands left in the brush in your desk drawer while you were otherwise engaged. I trust that was not an unforgivable intrusion into your privacy on my part.”

Abbie shook her head, mostly in disbelief, but waved a hand for him to continue.

“Now, your hair is very delicate and must be treated with the utmost care…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Forty-five minutes later and an argument erupted in the salon as Sebastian finished straightening Abbie’s hair using some, but discarding most of Ichabod’s “helpful” advice.

“No! No! Olivia belongs with Jake!” Sebastian insisted, “She’s too good to be some man’s side ho! Tell him, Abbie!”

“Nope! I’m just going to let you two duke this out. I’m having too much fun just watching!” She responded.

“I will deduce from your tone that the ‘ho’ to which you are referring is not the gardening implement. However I must insist that President Grant is a much better match for Miss Pope, despite the unfortunate reality of his marriage to Mellie.”

Ichabod sat forward in his chair and continued. “While he is no paragon of virtue, I submit that his dedication to his purpose – serving as President of the United States, indicates there is still some fiber of goodness and humanity in him which can be salvaged by Miss Pope who is, I believe, his true soulmate and intellectual equal. Mr. Ballard, on the other hand, is violent, crude, unkempt, boorish, manipulative and wholly untrustworthy given what we know of his underhanded dealings with B613!”

Ichabod paused in the middle of his diatribe, having found himself becoming much more angry than perhaps was warranted given the fictional nature of the people being discussed. An image of a particular tall, thin man with poorly maintained blond hair, dingy clothes and a smug smile flashed into his mind at this moment, but he quickly pushed it out.

Abbie raised an eyebrow at him as if to ask if he were OK and he snapped back to the present.

“Erm… At any rate, I eagerly await the day when Miss Pope is finally able to be with her lover unencumbered.  If this does not happen after all the time I have invested in this story, I shall channel the full force of my wrath into writing a scathing chirp so infectious that it will bring Miss Shonda Rhimes and her minions to their knees!”  

Caught off guard by Abbie and Sebastian’s laughter, he looked to each of their faces for an explanation. “What?! What did I say? Does one not chirp with the tiny blue bird in short missives?”

Abbie calmed herself before she responded. “I think you mean a tweet and I think you want it to ‘go viral,’ not ‘become infectious.’ But good for you for sticking up for your beliefs on soap opera plots! I’m so proud of you.” Abbie, her hair now finished, stood to look at herself in the mirror.

“You know what? I think I change my mind, baby girl!” Sebastian said. “I’m gonna kick my man to curb. How would you like to be my next husband, Mr. Bond?”

“As flattering as that proposal is, my dear Sébastien, I fear that my dance card is already quite full.” Ichabod replied, his voice oddly solemn for such a lighthearted conversation.

Abbie looked up from her purse and into the glass of the mirror in front of her. She could have sworn she caught a glimpse of Ichabod staring intently at her, but when she turned to face him, he had already looked away.

**Author's Note:**

> *This story is complete, but Sebastian will be back in other stories!*
> 
> Thanks to birdlovesafish on tumblr for the original prompt!


End file.
